


Being Good

by TwinIvoryElephants



Category: Gone Series - Michael Grant
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Drama & Romance, F/M, Love Triangles, POV Multiple, Slice of Life, Unrequited Crush, also i guess diana's pregnancy isn't magical in this fic sorry, also sam is there, astrid and diana struggle with....Morality, maybe ooc???, no real external conflict
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinIvoryElephants/pseuds/TwinIvoryElephants
Summary: Diana struggles with being a good person when a budding friendship with Astrid unexpectedly coincides with a budding crush on Sam. Meanwhile, Astrid feels alienated from Sam following their reconciliation and takes refuge in helping Orc with the Bible, to Howard's irritation. Complicated feelings ensue. Set during the beginning of FEAR.
Relationships: Astrid Ellison/Charles "Orc" Merriman, Astrid Ellison/Sam Temple, Diana Ladris & Astrid Ellison, Diana Ladris/Sam Temple, Howard Bassem/Charles "Orc" Merriman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

When Diana actually took the time to waddle outside of her bedroom and onto the houseboat proper, she usually found Sam leaning on the rail and looking out onto the lake. She lingered in the doorway to the kitchen, clutching the door frame to steady herself. She still wasn’t used to living on the water. _Thank God I don’t get seasick._

It was weird, she thought, watching Sam’s back with a frown. He and Caine weren’t identical, but something about the way they held themselves was similar. It was too easy to picture Sam’s honey- blond hair darkening, his tan skin paling, until it was his twin standing in front of her. They brooded the same way—though Sam probably never brooded about the consequences of trying to conquer everyone in the FAYZ, or any of the myriad screwed-up shit Caine did, Diana thought glumly. No, Sam was the good twin. Noble. Squeaky clean.

She thought about joining him by the rail, out in the sunlight. She’d been holed up in her bedroom for the better half of a week, she figured, though she didn’t count the days. Her whole body seemed intent on sabotaging itself; she ached and craved for foods that were impossible to get, her appetite coming and going at all hours. She mostly slept all day, in between frequent waddles to the bathroom to either pee or vomit. It beat working a job like the other kids had to do, but it did get boring. Lonely, too.

Something told her Sam wouldn’t want to be disturbed, but Diana joined him anyway, clearing her throat as she came closer. “Hey,” she said. Her voice was low; she hadn’t spoken to anyone yet today, and it was past noon.

Sam looked around, the grim look on his face clearing. “Hey, Diana.” He glanced briefly down at her stomach. “Uh—how are things?”

She resisted the urge to make a joke. Sam had been patient with her, and he obviously didn’t want to be disturbed. He deserved a sincere answer. “Fine, thanks.” She shifted, unsure of what to say next. The troubled look in his eyes was so much like Caine’s, it was distracting. His eyes were a piercing blue, the same color of the sky; it illuminated the golden streaks in his hair. _Astrid’s a lucky girl,_ Diana thought, and felt a slightly bitter pang. Of course, it was just her luck she was in love with his sociopathic twin. 

Sam nodded and turned back to look at the water. “Good.” They lapsed into silence, watching the gentle waves rock the surrounding houseboats and listening to the cries of the faraway gulls. Diana was starting to feel like she should leave when he suddenly spoke again. “Lake Tramonto’s pretty different from the island, huh.” 

“Yeah. A lot.” When she first came to the lake, Sam had made a point to not bring up Caine—not to her face, anyway. It was one of the reasons Diana liked him. After a few weeks, though, the question didn’t seem too intrusive. A little awkward, maybe, but not offensively so. She decided to elaborate, feeling generous. “Not in a bad way, though. Not at all. The kids here…” She paused, looking out onto the deck of the nearest boat. A kid was leaning over the rail, waving to his friend on the lower deck of the boat across the way. “They really like you. Respect you.”

“Well.” Sam shrugged, his face darkening a little. “You attract more flies with honey than vinegar, right?”

Diana suddenly felt uncertain. She wasn’t used to being on such shaky ground; Caine would have been proud of her acknowledgement of his leadership skills. Expectant of it, in fact—but Sam just seemed stressed.

When he saw Diana looking at him quizzically, he shook his head, tone softening. “I shouldn’t complain, though. It was way rougher before. The council helps.”

“It’s weird how different you two are.” The words slipped out before Diana could stop them. She inwardly cringed. _Shit._ That _definitely_ wasn’t the right thing to say.

She braced herself for the potential blow-up, but to her surprise, Sam just gave a wry chuckle. “Yeah. Caine and his whole world domination shtick.” He smiled at her. His teeth were white against the tan of his skin; his eyes crinkled up. Diana suddenly felt her face grow warm; Caine had smiled at her like that sometimes, but it never reached his eyes. Even when he was embracing her, lying together in that big silky bed formerly belonging to Jennifer Brattle and Todd Chance, his lazy, contented smile never reached his eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t miss it.”

Diana heard the caution in his words. _He’s_ hoping _I don’t miss it._ She looked away, thinking of the way Caine touched her in that bed, thinking of the feathery softness of Jennifer’s robe, thinking of Caine’s cold gray eyes.

She touched her swollen stomach and looked out onto the lake again. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”

* * *

She was beginning to want her own room. She knew Sam would be in the one they shared, listening to R.E.M. on his iPod and staring at the ceiling. He did that often when he was feeling down. When they were on good terms, Astrid would try to comfort him—now, though, she was in no mood to indulge his sulk. She didn’t want to be anywhere near his self-pitying blue eyes, the insolent curve of his lip. Just the thought filled her with anger. 

Diana’s room was neutral ground. Astrid could hunch over in the wicker chair crammed in the corner and read after giving Diana her dinner. She did that now, passing Sam in the kitchen without looking at him, a tray in her hands filled with a plate of fish and leafy vegetables, a yellowed paperback sitting snugly beside it. Diana sat up when she entered, yawning. “You again,” she said, blinking sleepily.

“Me again.” Astrid tucked the paperback under her arm with one hand and gave her the tray with the other. She sat down hard on the wicker chair. 

“Is it Sam?” Diana asked, moved her food around her plate, head cocked in wry sympathy. 

“No.” Astrid opened her book and started to read.

“Where’d you go today? I won’t tell Sam. Swear to God.”

 _How bored is she?_ Astrid sighed and lowered her paperback, looking at the stack of books on the bedside table. “Have you started reading those yet?” she asked. 

“Two chapters of _Madame Bovary_ this morning. I’ll tell you all about it if you tell me all about what’s been going on between you two.”

Astrid hesitated. It was hard to admit, but there was no one she could talk to who would understand the way Diana would. She had insight others didn’t—and it didn’t help that Dekka and Edilio had no interest in her and Sam’s problems. “This doesn’t leave this room,” she said slowly.

“Who would I tell?” Diana coyly rearranged her legs under the coverlet. 

Astrid straightened her spine. She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. This felt dangerous in a way she’d rarely felt before. It wasn’t like she had many friends to bare her soul to in the first place. “Sam and I,” she said stiffly, “have been...having difficulties lately. As you probably know.”

She paused. Diana looked at her expectantly, and Astrid swallowed. “He’s just—I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” She fiddled with her book, rifling through pages without looking at them, face red as a beet. How could she explain her emotions when she didn’t understand them herself? “The only time we get along is when we’re...in bed together. Otherwise, I just get so...I keep remembering things he did before I left—kissing Taylor, for instance.” Her eyes flashed at the memory. “We were arguing about something petty, something that didn’t even matter, and somehow I got angry about it all over again—”

“What was the argument about?” Diana asked as she nibbled a cabbage leaf.

Astrid bit her lip, unsure how much to reveal. “He feels I haven’t been spending enough time with him,” she admitted. “He says he misses me.”

“That sounds like it matters.”

Astrid frowned. “I spent weeks alone in the wilderness,” she said. “I’m used to being alone. I like it. It clears my head. But he always wants me by him. I can’t spend the day away from him without him telling me he missed me.”

Diana had a strange expression on her face. “Sounds like he really cares about you,” she said softly.

“He does. I know he does, and I know I should be grateful.” Astrid knew she was ranting, but she didn’t care. “I need space. I need time to process. I can’t just go back to the way things were. I _can’t_.” Her voice shook a little, and she realized that there was a lump in her throat. She drew herself up and blinked away the tears in her eyes. She was not going to cry in front of Diana Ladris—that was one line she wouldn’t let herself cross.

Diana looked at her, frowning. Astrid’s stomach dropped when she saw the skepticism on her face. “You think I’m angry about nothing,” she said dispiritedly.

“I mean,” Diana said, exhaling heavily through her nose, “no offense, but my boyfriend was the type of guy who dangled kids above moving helicopter blades when he got angry. And he only wanted me around so I would eventually screw him. If Sam’s a little clingy after you ran away for weeks, I can’t blame him.”

Astrid resisted the urge to snap something cruel. _And whose choice was that to sleep with Caine?_ It was stupid of her to think Diana would understand. It didn’t take a trained psychologist to realize that of course someone as needy and insecure as her wouldn’t understand how smothered she felt. She stood up and moved to leave. “Thanks for listening,” she said.

“Hold on!” Diana adjusted her position on the bed, wincing.

Astrid wondered if the baby was kicking. She stopped, hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at her.

Diana took a deep breath and said, “I’m not trying to be a bitch, but I mean it. Sam’s a good person. He _loves_ you, Astrid—really loves you. I can see it in his face whenever he fights with you. I just think—I don’t know. Maybe don’t fight a good thing.” She leaned back into her pillows and added, as if embarrassed by her sincerity, “Or don’t. Look how good my last relationship turned out.”

Astrid said, with icy politeness, “Thanks for listening, Diana. Sam will pick up your tray soon,” then strode out the door and shut it behind her. Diana’s advice hadn’t helped her emotional state at all. Of course. She shouldn’t have expected it to.

But, she reminded herself as she walked onto the deck and felt the night air play through the ragged ends of her hair, she couldn’t blame Diana. She hadn’t told her everything. But how could she? How could she tell her how disgusted she felt inside after sleeping with Sam, how old warnings about the sinfulness of premarital sex cropped up in her mind and stuck there no matter what she did? The loss of her Christian faith had been the only thing keeping her together after Little Pete’s death—to have it flare up now, in bits and pieces, was troubling. It was the constancy of it all, possibly, she thought. The expectation of sex happening semi-nightly. It was exciting, of course, and stimulating in the moment, but afterward, when the heat faded and their bodies lay naked and entangled, Astrid just felt tired and vaguely alienated. Guilty, too. _It’s wrong,_ a tiny voice in her head peeped as she tried to fall asleep. _Wrong, wrong, wrong_.

But she couldn’t refuse Sam. He would never actively force her, of course, but if she stopped having sex with him, she’d lose the only thing that still kept them together. He would shut down, become distant, maybe even break up with her and find solace in some other girl far more willing to put out on a regular basis. And that couldn’t happen. Astrid _needed_ her and Sam to be together; she needed it just as much as he did. They were a couple. They were the parents of the FAYZ. Being together meant they weren’t alone. It meant safety and security and familiarity.

She slipped into her and Sam’s room. “Astrid?” Sam sat up. His eyes were soft, remorseful. Tinny music emanated from his earbuds.

“What are you listening to?” she asked, moved by the look in his eyes, the dark night, the warm bed and the body occupying it. She cursed herself, knowing she’d feel guilty before dropping off to sleep, missing the times when prayer and recitations were good distractions from her desire. She’d been so innocent then!

“Weezer.” Sam took his earbuds out. “Listen, Astrid—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so...controlling. You can go wherever you want, I don’t care. I’m just not sure helping Orc get religion is a good thing.” He looked at her carefully, eyes full of concern. “You know, with...Little Pete and everything. It might bring up feelings that you’ve already...gotten over.”

Astrid was stiff listening to him speak. Sam had been asking where she went off to that question for the past week. She’d finally answered him, and he’d reacted exactly how she thought he would—with incredulity and a kind of self-conscious embarrassment. He’d asked how long it’d been going on. He’d asked, jokingly, if he should be worried. Harmless questions, but they didn’t feel harmless coming out of Sam’s mouth—not to Astrid, anyway. She’d snapped at him, asking why he cared in the first place, insisted that she didn’t have to be glued to his lips every second of the day, that perhaps she had priorities other than him. The argument had started from there.

She’d overreacted, she knew, but his comments sent her insides burning. Astrid was trying to be _good_. She was trying to help someone she cared about—someone who needed her—and here Sam was, poking around in her business, grilling her with questions about what she did all day and acting like she was engaging in sly or deceptive or unhealthy behavior when she told him. There was nothing wrong with helping Orc read the Bible, she thought. He’d asked her specifically, after all, and it’d be rude to refuse.

“I appreciate the concern, Sam,” Astrid replied, crossing her arms, “but I can decide for myself whether I want to take that risk. And I do. It’s important to me.” She couldn’t explain why, maybe because she didn’t really know, but it was true.

Sam nodded. “I trust you.” He held out his arms for her, eager, wanting—and Astrid, easing off her shorts and T-shirt, went to him.


	2. Chapter 2

When Astrid haltingly asked if she could sleep in her room one night, Diana instantly said no. It was a knee-jerk reaction, more out of mortification than anything. “There’s hardly any room in here,” she pointed out. “The bed takes up all the space.”

Astrid’s face was red, especially around her eyes. Diana felt a little guilty; it was clear she’d been crying. 

“I know it isn’t convenient,” Astrid said, looking at her hands. Her hair was just long enough to curl around the cups of her ears; its short length had turned it wavy. Diana wondered if she’d keep it that way.

“I guess the couch is out of the question?” Diana asked, trying and failing to keep the edge out of her voice. Something about Astrid’s demeanor bothered her. She guessed she probably hadn’t taken her advice, since she and Sam were still having their tiff. They hadn’t spoken to each other in days, making the houseboat particularly quiet. Whenever Astrid came to her room in the evenings to read, she did so in complete silence, which Diana found irritating. She was being left out of the loop.

Astrid raised her eyes to meet Diana’s. She looked tired. “I’ve tried it already,” she admitted quietly, crossing her arms across her chest. “It’s too small to sleep in comfortably.”

“Oh.” Diana wasn’t sure what to say next. Something heavy settled in her chest, and she struggled to suppress a sigh.  “Fine, then,” she said begrudgingly. “You can stay.”

“Thank you,” said Astrid, and her politeness somehow irked Diana even more. 

“Just don’t kick,” she said as they climbed into the bed. She hadn’t shared a bed with anyone in a platonic sense since she was a kid. It was weird, she thought. Astrid lay on the far side of the bed. Diana could only see her back. She turned her head and tried to ignore the faint sound of the other girl’s breathing, which was nearly eclipsed by the sounds of the night emanating from outside. She was just about to drop off into a doze, grateful she wasn’t gripped by nausea or pregnancy bloat, when Astrid spoke. 

“Diana?”

“What?” she mumbled.

“I want to tell you something.”

Diana briefly pondered the ethics of telling her to just go to sleep before deciding against it. “Shoot.”  _ Just make it quick. _

There was a rustling of bedclothes. Diana turned her head, cheek pressed against her pillow, and saw Astrid’s eyes gazing back at her in the darkness. “I’ve been thinking about leaving,” she said softly. “I need to get away for a while.”

Diana raised her eyebrows, taken back. She hadn’t realized things were that bad. “Are you serious?” she asked, propping herself up on one elbow. Astrid’s eyes glimmered in the dark. Diana sincerely hoped she wouldn’t start blubbering.

“I can’t sleep in the same bed as him anymore. It’s just too much. He  _ wants _ me too much.” Astrid’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

Diana frowned. Sam didn’t seem to have a big sexual appetite—at least, no bigger than the average teenage boy’s. Then again, Astrid had only recently shed her prudish Christian upbringing; what seemed like run-of-the-mill horniness to her probably seemed to Astrid like the beginnings of a full-blown sex addiction. 

Diana rolled her eyes at the thought, torn between sympathy and bitterness.  _ Poor little Astrid, having to deal with teen boys. The horror.  _

Didn’t she realize how un-special that was? Diana had been dealing with that shit since she was thirteen. Twelve, even. But suddenly, now that Astrid “the Genius” Ellison had stepped off her Christian pedestal, it had to be such a revelation.

“I don’t get it,” Diana admitted, voice low. She looked into Astrid’s eyes, disliking their big, pretty blueness, the way they shone with a sort of desperation. “I don’t understand why that’s so bad. The wanting.”  _ Some girls would kill for that sort of thing.  _ Suddenly, her throat constricted. She felt keenly the state she was in—stomach grotesque and swollen, hair unwashed, the hollows of her malnourished cheeks still struggling to fill in. She wondered if Caine missed her, if he hated her for leaving.

She rolled heavily onto her back and looked at the ceiling.

“It’s not him,” Astrid was saying. “It’s not his fault, it’s mine. I’m too weak to say no, because I want it, too. But afterward, I feel….”

“Guilty,” Diana supplied. She’d never been to Sunday school, but she’d heard of Catholic guilt and all the weird hangups religious people got around sex. It stunk of hypocrisy and self-flagellation.

“Yeah,” Astrid said softly. “Guilty.”

“I thought you weren’t Christian anymore.”

“I’m not,” she snapped. When Diana bristled, she added, softening her tone, “It’s just...complicated.”

“Old habits die hard, I guess.” Diana’s tone was flat. She was tired of being sympathetic. She stewed in silence, pulling the coverlet up to her chin. Part of her wanted to snap at Astrid that  _ she  _ wasn’t so lucky, that  _ her  _ boyfriend actually did genuinely terrible things and deserved to be broken up with. But she could visualize so clearly Astrid’s reaction: the cold look in her eyes, the disapproving frown, judgement rolling off her in waves. 

_ It’s your fault,  _ she could almost hear her saying, in her cold, clipped, know-it-all way.  _ You got involved with him. You chose to have sex with him. You chose to be his girlfriend. You chose to be a whore. _

Diana balled up a corner of the coverlet into her fist and squeezed. She tried to breathe deeply, to let it go.  _ Think of the baby,  _ she thought.  _ You’re not that girl anymore. You’re going to be better for the baby. _

Diana closed her eyes and put one hand on her stomach. She dropped off to sleep thinking of baby names. Secretly, she was hoping for a girl. 

* * *

“Sam.”

He didn’t look at her, just continued to walk down the dock. Astrid caught up with him and, with some hesitation, touched his shoulder. He shook her off.  _ I deserve that,  _ she thought, struggling to stave off a fresh wave of guilt. Some kids wandered aimlessly nearby. Sam called them over and asked them what they were supposed to be doing. One of the younger ones had dirt smudged on his face. “Lick your thumb and clean yourself up,” Sam said evenly. “How old are you?”

“He’s four,” said an older girl, who looked about seven. The boy obeyed Sam, glassy-eyed. The girl was wearing a woman’s blazer and a dirty striped tank top; the blazer bagged to her knees. Her eyes were bright. She looked at Sam directly. It would’ve been cute pre-FAYZ, a little kid being so serious. Now, it was normal. 

“He works with Sinder and Jessie,” the girl continued. “They let him on break early ‘cause he has a cold.”

Astrid tensed and saw from the set of his shoulders that Sam was doing the same thing. After the Supernatural Death Cough, any sickness was suspicious. “Okay,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Good. Uh, keep an eye on each other.”

Astrid caught sight of Sam’s expression as he turned back towards her. He looked lost, distracted. She felt another stab of guilt, but kept her face neutral.  _ I chose this,  _ she reminded herself as they began to walk again. They continued on until they found a trailer about ten minutes from the lake. It was a beat-up old thing that nonetheless, by the look of the small mass of kid-sized shoes and socks by the door, was occupied.

Sam rapped on the trailer door. Astrid peered into the shaded windows and saw nothing.  _ Of course,  _ she realized, feeling foolish. Sam must have come to the same realization, because only a second later he murmured, “They must be working.”

“We can’t just evict them,” Astrid said, suppressing a sigh. The kids must have moved in right after Diana left to live in their houseboat.

“They’ll move,” said Sam.

“Sam,” said Astrid. She knew what he was like when he got this way. He was cool and collected and cold, giving her a taste of her own medicine. After the cold shoulder came the lashing out.

He was hurt. She knew that. Heartbroken. His girlfriend had come back from the wilderness for only a few short weeks only to leave again, and this time Astrid wasn’t leaving her nightgown for him to sleep with in her stead. “I need to do this,” she’d insisted a day earlier, a week and a half after that night in Diana’s bed. She was practically pleading. Sam just ran his fingers through his dark blond hair, shaking his head. 

“I can help you,” he said, eyes wide, desperate. “We can get through this. You just need to tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it!” 

_ This isn’t about us,  _ she longed to say, but somehow her words got trapped against her teeth and sat there on her tongue.  _ It’s about me. _

Astrid slid her bag off her shoulder and placed it on the scrubby grass. She wasn’t bringing much, just some clothes and a few books she hadn’t read yet. “You can go back to the boat,” she said. “I’ll wait for them to come home and tell them—”

“No,” Sam said, his jaw set. “You can go in.” He jerked his head toward the trailer. “I’ll wait for them to come back and tell them they’ve got to move.”

Astrid hesitated. The kids would move for Sam, but it still felt a little unethical to kick them out—not that she was in a good place to complain. “We should direct the kids to Edilio,” she said. “Make sure they have somewhere else to live.”

“I already talked to him about it,” Sam said shortly. He turned away. Astrid took the hint and went inside. The trailer had little furniture, but that was fine with her. It was relatively a clean, shabby place that smelled faintly of cigarettes. She looked at the sunlight slanting through the window above the folded-out Murphy bed and felt a pang of sudden loneliness.  _ Don’t back out now,  _ she thought, shaking off the memory of lying warm and comfortable in Sam’s arms.  _ This is for the best.  _

When she went back outside, she found Sam talking quietly to a small pack of twelve-year-old girls. Two of them had their arms crossed. “I’m sorry,” Astrid heard him say to them. “We’ll find you another place, I swear. A houseboat.”

“We all want to be roommates,” insisted one of them. “Before, we were all split up.”

“Okay, sure. We can figure that out,” said Sam. He sounded tired. Astrid remembered how much he used to hate being the mediator of the FAYZ’s various squabbles. Edilio as mayor was an incredible improvement over their past circumstances, but some kids still clung to Sam.

When the girls left relatively satisfied, Astrid went up to Sam and squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she told him. “It’ll just be for a little while.”

“I’ll miss you,” Sam said after a moment. “I still don’t understand why you need—” He stopped after seeing the look on her face. “Never mind.”

“This isn’t a breakup, it’s just...a break.”

“You know," he replied, "the more you say it’s not a breakup, the more it sounds like it is.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being facetious or not.” Astrid leaned in and kissed him, only to feel a twinge of regret when he pulled away too soon. “I love you,” she said.

“Love you, too.” Sam gave her hand a weak squeeze, avoiding her eyes. “Enjoy the trailer.”

“I will.”  _ I’ll be back soon,  _ she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to lie. She watched him go for a few minutes before turning away.

It was noon when she first arrived at the trailer, and twelve-thirty when she left it again. She walked, enjoying the mild day and the only slightly guilt-inducing freedom of not having to work. Soon enough, though, her thoughts turned to her trouble with Sam. When they turned to Sam, they turned to sex, and when those thoughts eventually turned to Christianity and her loss of faith. And that, of course, led to Petey.

Astrid stopped her walk. She wished she’d kept up on her budding marijuana habit, but she’d stopped after arriving back into Sam’s arms. Now, even that had failed her.

She stood only a couple yards away from the trenches that made up the latrines. She looked out onto them and wrinkled her nose. The unlucky kids on latrine duty did their work diligently; they hardly even looked up to see her watching them. Part of her was glad they didn’t, but part of her wished they would.

Before she’d lost her faith, she had passages from the Bible to distract her. Astrid felt a twinge, thinking of those days. Of course, she thought, could still have that—in a way.

With renewed purpose, she started to walk. 


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re not on house arrest, you know,” Sam said as Diana entered the kitchen. “You can leave if you want.”

“Good to know,” she replied, picking her way over to the table. Astrid had only left that morning, but already the houseboat felt lonelier—not, of course, that she would ever admit it. She was mostly worried for Sam’s sake. He was a good person, willing to offer her a chance to redeem herself when she’d come crawling to him on her knees, desperate and out of luck, and it was hard to forget that. She studied the dull color of his unwashed hair, the moody set of his jaw. When Caine got this way, he usually used his powers to express his anger. But Sam withdrew, at least when Astrid wasn’t around to argue with. 

She sat down with a grunt, too hungry to feel self-conscious—no one had come to bring her lunch—and looked at the platter of dirt-specked vegetables sitting at the center of the table. Sam picked up a carrot and held it up to her. “They’re fresh from Sinder’s garden,” he said. “I was just about to wash them.”

Diana’s stomach rumbled. “What are you gonna make with them?” she asked. It was still strange to have a source of fresh food in the FAYZ. She would trade in all of Sinder’s vegetables for a good supply of Oreos or something, if she had the option, but San Francisco de Sales Island was long behind her.

Sam shrugged. “Soup, maybe.” He looked at her. “You want to help?”

Diana attempted to chop carrots with a butter knife—all the sharp knives had been appropriated as weapons at some point—while Sam boiled water in a pot on the little stove. The noon sun was bright, sending streams of sunlight through the windows. It was peaceful, she thought as she sawed away at the carrots. Sam began cutting asparagus beside her. Diana couldn’t help but notice that, despite the knife’s dullness, he chopped with a strong and steady hand. 

“Have you cooked before?” she asked.

“Yeah, sometimes. With my mom.” Sam kept his eyes on the asparagus.

“Oh.” Diana turned her gaze back to her unevenly, thickly cut carrot chunks and attempted to cut those into smaller slices. She didn’t know what to say to the muted pain in his voice. She felt no such sympathy for her own mother. She cared more for her perverted boyfriends than for her own daughter, given how she kept bringing those men around even after Diana complained. She didn’t know Nurse Temple much at all; she hadn’t visited the Coates nurse’s office enough to really recognize her as someone other than just an anonymous part of the faculty before the FAYZ. Her impressions of her largely came from Caine, who hadn’t cared about Nurse Temple prior to learning about his true parentage and talked about her with scorn after.

“Did Caine ever talk about her?”

“What?” Diana looked at Sam, surprised. “No. Unless he wanted to insult her or something.” She wished she could tell him something different. “Sorry,” she added lamely. 

“No,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Don’t be. I wasn’t expecting anything different.” His voice was hard and dismissive. Diana wondered why he’d asked in the first place. As if to answer her, Sam continued, “I only asked ‘cause you know him better than anybody. He might’ve been different around you.” He paused. “He _must_ have been different around you.”

Diana gave a bitter snort.

“I guess not, huh?”

“Sam, it’s _Caine_.” Diana put extra pressure on her knife. It thunked on the plastic cutting board as it sliced through the carrot. “He isn’t exactly Prince Charming.” _He’s nothing like you._

She could feel Sam looking at her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. “Right,” he said after a moment. With that, they put the vegetables in the pot and let them cook.

The soup was good, Diana thought—a bit flavorless, but good. Sam insisted on clearing the dishes on his own. She wasn’t about to argue with him, so she retrieved _Madame Bovary_ from her room and sat at the kitchen table. She’d been in her room all day, and she was tired of looking at the same four walls and sitting in the same queen-size bed.

Sam dried off his hands and sat across from her. “Astrid give you that?” he asked.

“What tipped you off?” Diana lowered her book. 

“I didn’t really peg you for a big reader. No offense.”

“I thought the same of you. No offense.” She looked at him critically. “You seemed more like an athlete. Real California surfer type.”

Sam grinned. “Can’t argue with that.”

Diana smiled back. “You must miss it—surfing.”

“Oh, yeah. More than anything.” He looked wistful.

“I miss—” She paused, thinking. There was nothing specific she could think of. What was she going to say, that she missed nail polish and shopping and skipping class to hang out with Drake and Caine? All of her memories seemed tainted with superficiality. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I miss the general stuff, I guess. Food. The feeling of being safe, of being a kid.”

Sam nodded. “It must be extra weird,” he mused. “With you being pregnant.”

Diana gave a little start. She’d forgotten. She placed a hand on her stomach. “Yeah. It is. I never had to worry about a baby before.” _I always had condoms before,_ she added mentally.

“Do you miss it? Not being—never mind. Shit, sorry, that’s a weird question.”

“No, it’s alright. I do miss not being pregnant.”

Sam cleared his throat after a pause. “Did you ever think of, uh—?”

“Not really,” Diana said glumly. “It crossed my mind, I guess. But I can’t just...get rid of it. This baby...it’s something I can...I don’t know. Be better for.” It sounded stupid out loud. She scrunched her toes in her slippers.

“Oh,” Sam said quietly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Diana’s face burned.

“Astrid’s pretty touchy about talking about that stuff, I mean.”

“I’m not Astrid.”

“I know.”

They looked at each other for a minute. “I’m sorry she’s gone,” Diana admitted. The words came out awkwardly, too flat to sound sincere, and she cursed herself. She wasn’t good at this, having sympathy.

“It’s not your fault.” Sam’s voice was flat. “She just has stuff to work out. On her own, apparently.”

Diana thought of Astrid curled up on the far side of her bed, sleeping completely self-contained. “She’s got an interesting way of doing that,” she said.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. She’s interesting, alright.” It was hard to miss the note of bitterness in his voice.

Diana frowned a little. How could a cold fish like Astrid could garner so much affection from a guy like him, she wondered. What was it about her, in all her chilly superiority, that Sam adored? She thought of asking him, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to make him dwell on her like that; it would only hurt him to remember. 

After a moment, Sam stood up from the table and gave her a nod. “Enjoy the book,” he said.

“Sure,” Diana replied. When he left, she stood up, turned off the light, and went to her room. She didn’t know how to ask for his company again—he wanted to be alone, she suspected. He wanted to mourn Astrid’s absence in peace. Lying in bed, feeling tired and pleasantly full, Diana almost missed her herself. Astrid’s gangly legs always managed to jab her in some way, despite her being all the way on the other side of the bed. She definitely missed Caine—mostly the way he held her. When he was sleeping with his arms around her and his head close to hers, she could almost make believe that he was a kind, compassionate boy. A boy who’d be a good father.

She wrapped her arms around her belly and thought about what Sam had said. It wasn’t true that she’d thought about having an abortion. From the minute she realized her pregnancy, she’d wanted the baby. The thought of getting rid of the little embryo growing inside her hadn’t crossed her mind. She didn’t have any moral objections to it, not like Astrid apparently did. She thought about Caine when she looked at the pregnancy test. She thought about the fact that it was a baby she and him had made together—the result of their having sex, or making love, or whatever you wanted to call it—and had felt her heart flutter. It was _theirs_ , proof of their union. How could she get rid of something, someone, like that?

Diana sighed before sitting up and sliding off the bed. Sam had said she wasn’t on house arrest, so why shouldn’t she take advantage? A walk in the fresh air might help get her mind off things.

As she waddled down the hall, huffing a bit, she thought of something. Sam. Maybe she could invite him. It’d be nice to talk to someone—and it wasn’t like anyone else in the FAYZ was clamoring for the companionship of Caine’s former girlfriend. Even the boys who might still want to fool around despite her former allegiance would be turned off by her pregnancy.

She took a breath and knocked on his bedroom door. “Hey, Sam?” she called, softer than she wanted. She cleared her throat, about to call again, when the door opened.

“Diana,” Sam said, looking puzzled. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I was just going to go for a walk.” She tried to sound casual about it, like it was no big deal. She didn’t want to be alone. 

His eyebrows raised slightly. “Okay. You, uh, want me to come with?” 

Diana’s heart dropped. _He’s going to say no._ “Just if you want,” she said quickly. “I just figured….” She silently cursed herself. Why the hell would Sam want to talk to her, of all people, when he was clearly struggling to deal with the fact that his girlfriend was essentially leaving him?

Sam’s forehead creased. _Just like Caine’s does when he gets confused,_ she couldn’t resist thinking. _Not that that’s often._

“I mean,” Diana finally muttered, “you said I wasn’t on house arrest, right?”

He looked thoughtful. “Yeah, I did.” Diana turned away, ready to leave, when Sam stepped out of the doorway, rolling his shoulders. 

“So,” he asked, a little awkwardly, “where do you want to go?”

* * *

The trailer sat half a mile away from the lake. Astrid stood in the overgrown crabgrass in front of the door, holding her Bible, and prepared herself to knock. She’d visited Sinder and Jessie’s garden beforehand, and they’d told her that Orc hadn’t come into work that day.

Howard opened the door. His eyes narrowed when he saw her. “Astrid,” he said curtly.

“Hello, Howard.”

“He’s drinking today.”

 _Is there a glint in his eye?_ she wondered. _Is he proud of himself?_ Suppressing a frown, Astrid said, “I know,” and slipped past him into the trailer.

She found Orc lying on a pile of blankets draped over a half-deflated air mattress, a bottle of Howard’s cabka beside him. When his eyes focused on her, he muttered, “Hey, Astrid.”

“Hi,” she replied.

He moved over on the mattress. Astrid could feel Howard’s disapproving eyes on her back as she sat beside him.

“What page were we on?” she asked as she opened the Bible. She looked at Orc, trying to meet his eyes. He gazed at her unsteadily. His good eye was an olive-tinged brown. _Mud-brown,_ she thought _._ It wasn’t a very charitable comparison. She tried to think of something more palatable, but couldn’t. 

“I dunno,” he mumbled.

“Somewhere in Leviticus,” she said, flipping through the Bible busily. “I’ll remember.”

She felt Orc staring at her fingers as she turned the pages, her lips as she mouthed the words from the passages she’d read time and time again. She could also feel Howard glaring at her, his arms folded. 

Astrid ignored all of it; she engrossed herself in the words she used to love, read them aloud and hoped they pierced through the fog of Orc’s drunkenness. Occasionally, she glanced at him and saw that his eyes were closed. Other times they were open, gazing at her. He shifted on the air mattress occasionally, unsettling Astrid’s own position as the mattress compressed and bounced back under his weight. They had to constantly maneuver around each other to avoid each other.

Howard went in and out of the trailer in typical restless fashion—he never seemed to deal drugs or sell cabka when Astrid was around.

Every once in a while, Orc would interrupt and ask a slurred question, and she would pause her reading to answer. Astrid liked that her theological knowledge was getting some use, and—if she was being honest with herself—she also liked the fascinated way he looked at her, as if she had all the secrets to the universe stored away in her mind. It made her feel like she was doing something important, filled her with a rosy glow of pride. Astrid didn’t have her faith anymore, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help others regain theirs. She could endure Howard’s rolling eyes and bitter comments if it meant doing that.

She read until she grew tired. Orc asked her to stay longer. “You could stay here tonight,” he said. “You could sleep here.” 

Astrid was suddenly aware that the hand not holding the Bible was very close to his. Their fingers just barely brushed each other.

She shook her head, face warming. “You know I can’t do that, Charles,” she said.

“There’s no room, anyway,” Howard said pointedly from where he was stationed nearby; his eyes burned holes in her back. She straightened her spine and took Orc’s hand. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said in a low voice.

Orc stared at their interlocked fingers. Astrid rose off the mattress and brushed imaginary dust off her basketball shorts. “You’ll be sober, right?”

He didn’t answer.

“Charles?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “I’ll be sober.”

Astrid lifted her chin at Howard before she slipped out the door. To her surprise, he followed her out, shutting the trailer door behind him. She suppressed a sigh, turning around. “Yes?”

Howard didn’t say anything. He just glared. “What?” she demanded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Nothing,” he said at last. “I just can’t believe you keep coming here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She crossed her arms.

“It won’t do him any good.”

“Neither will indulging his alcoholism,” she said icily.

Howard snorted. “You could be reading _The_ _Cat in the Hat_ for all he gets out of it.”

Astrid‘s mouth fell open in indignation. “That’s not fair,” she snapped, “it’s obvious he has some sort of learning disability—”

“For God’s sake!” Howard cried—then, stealing a glance at the trailer just behind him, he grabbed Astrid by the elbow and, before she could yank herself out of his grasp, steered her a fair distance away so not to be overheard. 

“It’s because of _you_ ,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “You’re here all the time, he—” Howard faltered a moment. Then, sounding vaguely strangled, he continued, “He’s got this big crush on you—”

Astrid went scarlet up to the tips of her ears, her face burning. She finally managed to say, “You’re wrong.”

“Bullshit,” Howard spat.

Astrid stared at him as resolutely as she could, though inside her stomach was flip-flopping with wild abandon, her face burning as if on fire. She realized she was shaking her head. “You’re making that up,” she scoffed, and was surprised by how calm she sounded, how rational. “That’s...that’s just _inane_.” 

Howard gaped at her. “ _You’re_ delusional,” he said, jabbing a finger somewhere in the vicinity of her nose. “You’re delusional and you’re leading him on.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m helping someone who needs help,” she snarled. “Orc _asked me_!”

Howard shook his head. “You don’t see it,” he sneered. “You’re something he can look at and fantasize about while he gets plastered!”

Astrid flinched, her face draining of color. Howard, undeterred, went on. “And you know what? I think you like it. You like having someone you can wrap around your little finger, someone who hangs on your every word and thinks you’re God’s gift to mankind, because Sam knows you too well to do that anymore.” 

Astrid stepped back as Howard spoke, turning away, wrapping her arms around herself.

“You’re using him,” he continued. His words, breathless with fury, lodged inside her like shards of ice. “You’re using him just as much as I am, so, for God’s sake, _stop_ acting like you’re doing anyone a favor but your own ego.”

She hunched over a bit, trying to think of something to say. She felt so angry, choked with rage and humiliation. It wasn’t true. She wasn’t so cruel, so pitiless. She was redeeming herself after what happened to Little Pete. She _was_.

Astrid was getting a stomachache. In the dying afternoon, the treetops lit with varying shades of amber light, she wanted to go back to her trailer and take a long, dreamless nap. 

Instead, she took a deep, shaky breath, turned around, strode toward Howard, and jabbed a finger at his skinny chest. “You,” she said through gritted teeth, breathing hard, “are a spineless, cowardly, _drug-dealing_ reprobate.” 

Howard blinked at her, then scoffed, “Is that all you got?”

Astrid stared at him. Then, she straightened up and stiffly walked away.

She could feel Howard’s eyes burning holes in her back long after she’d left his sight. She felt them even when she stripped off her sweaty clothes and crawled into bed in just a grimy undershirt and a pair of Sam’s boxers she hadn’t the heart to return.

She buried her head in her arms and pulled a blanket over her upper torso, shrouding herself in darkness. _He’s wrong,_ she told herself. _Obviously he is. Howard’s never liked me, of course he’d warp my motives into something obscene._

Every tightly coiled spring within her seemed to fall apart. Astrid sagged into the air mattress and had a good, long, noisy weep. After the worst had passed, lying on her stomach and wearily wiping her nose on her pillow, Astrid had a surprising revelation. 

She missed Diana. 


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks after Astrid left, Diana woke up with a cry. She grabbed the neckline of her oversized T-shirt and beat it rapidly against her collarbone, struggling to catch her breath. 

The dream had been a recurring one. It had taken place on the island, in Jennifer and Todd’s beautiful, warm bed. Usually, it was Caine who was there with her.

This time, though, Sam was in bed with her instead. Her fingers combed through his dark blond hair, their legs tangled together, and he’d kissed her jaw and neck, making her toes curl.

After getting her bearings, Diana went to the bathroom and scrubbed a damp towel over her face with vigor. The dream’s vestiges lingered; she could still feel Sam’s breath on her skin. It made her feel faintly sick. 

“Astrid’s going to kill me,” she whispered to her wide-eyed, damp-haired reflection. “They’re both going to kill me.”

Diana was no stranger to being the homewrecker, the other woman, whatever you wanted to call it; high school boys were fun to toy with, and their girlfriends were even more fun. This, however, was different. This was  _ Sam _ —Schoolbus Sam, Sam the hero, Sam who barely blinked before welcoming Diana to Lake Tramonto after a year of being the girlfriend of his worst nemesis.

And Astrid. What to think about Astrid? She didn’t like her, exactly—or did she? It was hard to dislike someone when they looked at you with glistening eyes and cried about their boyfriend to you in the middle of the night—while sharing a bed, to boot. No, she didn’t dislike Astrid. She maybe liked her a little bit, even. She was irritating, sure, but not bad. She was trying to get better. Like her. They had that in common.

But having feelings for her boyfriend...Diana’s stomach twisted at the thought. Astrid had been through enough shit. They’d  _ all  _ been through enough shit. Hadn’t they?

It was like her brain was trying to keep her a bad person, she thought gloomily, touching her stomach. Maybe her baby would be a messed-up witch, too. Why not?

No. No, that wasn’t the right way to think, damn it. Diana rubbed her eyes and took a breath, tucking her long dark hair behind her ears. A dream didn’t necessarily mean anything. Hell, it might’ve been some weird psychological fluke—she  _ had  _ been spending a significant time with Sam lately, and he was a better person than Caine ever was, so it made sense that some wires had gotten crossed somewhere and her pregnancy-addled brain mixed up her twins.

Diana wasn’t convinced. Still, a lie was better than nothing. She dressed and went out to the deck. It was early—the lake was silent save for the fishing crew waiting for the morning catch to bite. Everything Diana saw was tinged with the light blue of early morning. Pre-FAYZ, she’d be getting up to go to class at about this time, she realized, leaning on the deck’s railing, enjoying the breeze chilling her sweaty skin. Thank God Sam wasn’t up yet. She didn’t know what she’d do if she met him in the hall or in the kitchen. 

She had to get away. She couldn’t be in this houseboat. Diana hurried onto dry land, ignoring a few early risers’ curious glances. She wished she’d brought a jacket; it was a little chilly. She was never up this early if she could help it. 

There was nowhere she could go, she realized as she wandered around the vicinity of Lake Tramonto’s dock—no place except her old trailer, which was now Astrid’s. Just her luck. Would she even be up yet? Astrid was a pretty early riser, she thought. And even if she wasn’t up, she’d let Diana in and let her stay for a little while. Just so she could process things in a safe place. They were friends, after all. Sort of.

Astrid opened the door, looking sleepy. “Diana?” she said, squinting.

“Yeah. It’s me.” For a moment, Diana worried she would close the door on her face. Then Astrid pulled the door open.

A few minutes later, she was sitting at the table while Astrid set a cup of water in front of her. The two girls sat together, sipping their drinks and not saying much of anything. Nerves made Diana’s stomach crawl; seeing Astrid was a lot different than just thinking of her. She imagined the horror and fury and revulsion on her face if she told her about her dream.

“Is it the baby?”

“What?” Diana jumped a little. Astrid looked at her evenly, her short hair mussed and sticking up in a way that was funny when juxtaposed against her serious expression.

“You look worried. Is it something to do with the baby?”

Diana shook her head. “No, thank God.” Astrid’s imploring gaze made her want to continue. She cleared her throat and added, “Sam misses you.”

Astrid picked up her cup and drank, then said slowly, “I miss him, too.”

Something in Diana’s gut twinged guiltily. She nodded. “How are things going here?” she asked, looking around the trailer. It was shabby and stark, not that much different from when she lived there.

Astrid shrugged. “Fine.” There were dark circles under her eyes, and her mouth seemed at a permanent downward tug. 

“You...working things out?” Diana asked, unsure how careful she should be. She never had to ask about Caine or Drake’s well-being like this.

Astrid paused. Her lip trembled a little. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m...confused.” 

Diana felt a stab of horror at the tears suddenly glistening in her eyes. Why did Astrid think it was okay to cry around her? “Uh, about what?”

“Sam.” Astrid took a shaky sip from her cup. “I’ve been…” She took a breath. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Diana didn’t know what she was promising, exactly, but her curiosity outweighed her caution. She thought briefly of all promises she’d made to various girls at Coates, and how often she broke them.

“I’ve been going over to Howard and Orc’s. I’ve been trying to help Orc find God.”

Diana opened her mouth and closed it again. That certainly wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “I thought you weren’t a Christ—”

“I’m not. But he—Orc—asked me to help him with reading the Bible. That’s what he’s doing while he gets sober. So that’s where I’ve been going. But Howard thinks I’m...helping him for the wrong reasons.” 

Astrid’s halting words were so lacking in her usual confidence that Diana had to lean forward to hear her properly. What she heard, though, seemed irrelevant—especially compared to her own problems. “So?” she asked. “Who cares what Howard thinks?”

“But what if he’s right?”

Diana resisted the urge to scoff. “Who cares?” she said instead. “You’re doing a good thing, right?”

“If I’m doing it for selfish reasons, I don’t want to do it at all.”

“Okay, then, problem solved. Don’t help Orc.” Diana suddenly wanted to leave. It’d been a mistake to come. She wished she could talk to someone about her dream, but that person couldn’t be Astrid—of course it couldn’t. She stood up, glancing through a nearby window at the clear blue sky. “I should get going,” she said.

Astrid followed her to the door. “Tell Sam...tell him I’ve been thinking of him.”

“Yeah,” Diana said quickly, “I will.”

Astrid chewed her lip, standing in the doorway. Diana thought she might say something else, but instead, she closed the door.

Diana walked, her mind buzzing. When she thought about going back to the houseboat, her heart rate sped up. But where else would she go? Should she walk aimlessly until night fell? That might arouse Sam’s suspicions—they always hung out on the boat together, albeit most of the time in separate rooms, always aware of each other’s presence. Any time, Diana would know almost instinctively that Sam was on the deck or in the kitchen or in his room, wiling away the hours in the privacy of his own head.

She shivered; something in her mind clicked. A few days ago, she’d woken up at dawn and vomited bile onto the floor. Sam has come in, looking worried. She was so out of it, so sick of being pregnant, of feeling swollen and achy and delicate, that his concern made tears—hysterical, stupid tears—roll down her cheeks. He’d touched her back gently, then left to get paper towels. “I’ll clean it up,” he’d told her, voice low with sleep. “It’s okay.”

Just thinking of it made butterflies bang around in her stomach. Her pregnant stomach, made that way by another man—another  _ boy _ , she corrected herself.

Diana took a breath. This was fine. She could control herself, for everyone’s sake. She was a good person now, or at least trying to be. Having a silly crush on Sam wasn’t in itself a relationship-destroying thing, as long as she didn’t act on it.

She started toward the lake, keeping her head up and shoulders back, ignoring the creeping ridiculousness she felt at the swaying of her stomach.

* * *

Having Diana around wasn’t the concern he’d initially thought it was, Sam often reflected. The more time he spent with her on that quiet houseboat, the more it crystallized how she’d changed since they’d first met. She was cagey, sardonic, at first—Sam has expected that—but even that failed to rankle the way it had before. He could see that she was adrift without Caine, a lackey without an authority to kowtow to. Now, with Astrid gone, it was easier to see what Diana was also missing in Caine, cruel as he was.

Sam wondered if Diana missed him the same way he missed Astrid. She tore him up inside with her coldness, her distance. He loved her more than anything, but more and more it seemed she was slipping away. More than that, she was sliding back into Christianity in the uneasy-fitting way someone would slide into a childhood sweater. 

Sam resisted the urge to clench his teeth, remembering the last time they’d talked about it. He didn’t have her intelligence, sure, but it didn’t take any sort of genius to recognize that she was going to Orc and Howard’s place for more than just their company, or the self-righteous satisfaction of performing a good deed.

No, Sam thought worriedly, she was doing it because she wanted to delude herself again, wanted to comfort herself with the belief that there was a higher power. That wasn’t a good sign. It wasn’t true—she  _ knew _ it wasn’t true. It would hurt her if she started to believe again. Besides, they didn’t need a higher power, he wanted to tell her when they argued. They had each other. They had the houseboat gently rocking them to sleep, they had the warmth of each other’s naked bodies, they had understanding, they had love. Wasn’t that enough? Shouldn’t it be?

Not for Astrid, he thought bitterly. He glanced over at Diana on the bed, feeling a little guilty. Even when he had a pregnant girl to watch out for and keep company, Astrid still occupied his thoughts. But if Diana resented him for it in the last few weeks they’d spent being vaguely friendly toward each other, she gave no sign. 

Now, Sam studied her sleeping face, half-buried in the crook of a light brown arm that looked too skinny next to her bulging stomach. She really was beautiful, he had to admit. If Astrid was all sharp angles, with her bony elbows and long, solemn face, Diana was all warmth and softness. Her hair, springy and curly in a way his mother would envy, spread across her pillows. Her long eyelashes fluttered slightly as she slept, the nostrils on her puckishly upturned nose quivering.

Sam looked away, feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic. He eased  _ Madame Bovary _ out from under Diana’s outstretched fingers and placed it on her nightstand before departing.

Diana would scoff at him if he said anything, but Sam couldn’t help but think that she had a sort of glow around her. She had the type of sun-kissed, easy beauty you would see on actresses lounging on a beach in sunscreen commercials and the glow of pregnancy adults always mentioned. Sam didn’t know any other pregnant women to compare her to, but he bet Diana’s glow was something like the one people always talked about—like there was a warm, rosy light emanating from her figure, softening the edges of her silhouette, warming her sardonic smile and turning it genuine. Sam didn’t know how to describe it.

They’d been reading together, Sam flipping through a magazine while Diana scrunched her eyebrows through  _ Madame Bovary _ . Occasionally, she brought up Astrid—obliquely, as if saying her name would summon her. “I don’t know how she reads this,” she grumbled.

“You don’t have to keep reading it.”

“I know.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diana glance at him. “But I want to. Then we'll have something to talk about when she comes back.” 

Sam had felt a pang. She said it so casually. Not that he wasn’t sure Astrid would come back, eventually—she had before, hadn’t she? But that had made sense, in its own horrible way. When she’d gone away last time, she’d been wracked with grief over Little Pete and working out how she felt about her lack of faith. They’d already been fighting. This time, there was no buildup to her decision that Sam could see. It left him at a loss. They’d been happy. Sure, they’d disagreed about helping Orc, but still—they loved each other, didn’t they?

Sam pressed his fingers to his temples. He was going in circles again. He started to walk out onto the deck, then paused and turned back. He might as well take a leaf out of Diana’s book and nap. That was one way to stop himself from thinking about Astrid, he thought wryly. The other…. 

He remembered Taylor, the way her eyes glinted against her soft dark hair, how his fingers had pushed it behind her ear so he could get a better look at her. He remembered the way he’d acted, drunk and needy and wallowing in self-pity, and gave an internal wince. No, he couldn’t drink. He wasn’t that far gone.

As he reclined on his bunk, Sam thought again of his housemate.  _ Beautiful, repentant Diana.  _ His gut gave a sudden, awful twist as a new thought came to mind. If he did drink, who’s to say he wouldn’t make the same stupid mistake he did with Taylor? All she did was arrive at exactly the wrong time. And Diana was always there. She was as lonely and hurt as he was—even more so, considering the kind of person her boyfriend was. If he did drink....

The thought chilled him. No, he thought. The thing with Taylor was different.

Wasn’t it?

Sam turned his head to the side and inhaled Astrid’s faint, lingering scent on his pillow. It was, he told himself. He wasn’t that guy anymore. He wasn’t nearly as screwed up or frustrated or angry. He wouldn’t betray Astrid like that, not again.

_ You didn’t think you would betray her the first time, either,  _ a voice accused.  _ But you did. _

Fear and doubt filled Sam in equal measure. He wanted to clamp his fists over his ears and block out the little nagging voice in his head. Instead, he turned over onto his side, sticking his hands between his thighs to warm them. That was the way Astrid slept, usually, and he’d taken up the habit.

He wanted more than ever to stroke Astrid’s blonde hair, to cup her cheek and kiss her, to feel her body move as one with his, as natural and right as waves swelling and crashing again and again on a beach. His heart ached, his body thrummed with want. He was alone again.

Not completely alone, though, he couldn’t resist thinking. Diana was there with him. They were alone together.

Sam set his jaw, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Astrid holed up in her trailer and thought. 

She wasn’t getting much thinking done, though, as much as she wanted to. She spent most of the time lying on the Murphy bed, listening to the faint sounds of kids and birdsong emanating from the window just above her.

Her bed felt too large. She had come to realize this only recently. At first, the space was an extreme relief. She could stretch out, roll over, all without touching another body. She was alone, free of Sam and his wanting. Now, after just a few weeks, she found herself lapsing. The bed seemed to swell beneath her, becoming larger and emptier. She missed Sam, missed feeling his body enfold hers at night. That sense of missing, of loneliness, was always there, filling up the trailer, amplifying the quiet, steady dripping of the faucet attached to the kitchen sink and the various sounds that indicated that wildlife teemed outside.

When she wasn’t thinking about Sam, she thought about Howard and what he’d said to her. Anger welled up in her throat like bile—he had no right to say that to her, to even insinuate that she was manipulating Orc.

Astrid narrowed her eyes at the trailer’s ceiling until her vision blurred. Her face felt hot and her skin prickled. She felt antsy. She wished she could talk to Sam about what she was feeling. She wished she could talk to  _ anybody _ about what she was feeling. A sort of helplessness seemed to grip her, sending her spinning.

Her thoughts turned to Orc. His body was stony and over-large and strange, but his eyes were still human. They were still the eyes of the boy she’d tutored way back when. Her heart panged at the thought. He was a thug most of the time, but...when he looked at her….

Astrid tucked her hands between her thighs, her face growing hot with guilt. She tried to imagine wrapping her arms around his overgrown shoulders—surely her arms couldn’t fit around his torso?—or tracing the pebbled texture of his face until she met the delicate remaining flesh on his cheek. It’d feel strange, foreign...and it was a crazy idea, besides...but he’d  _ let _ her.

A chill ran up Astrid’s spine, making her shiver. That was it. Orc trusted her. He trusted her enough to touch him—no other person in the FAYZ could say that. Maybe not even Howard.

Astrid slipped off the Murphy bed and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She felt all knotted up inside. When she looked into the small, circular mirror above the sink, she saw a pale, tired girl with shadows under her eyes.  _ What does Orc see in me? _ she wondered. She knew, of course, but it was still perversely satisfying to think of the answer. Something fluttered in Astrid’s belly as she imagined, resting her hands against the sink’s cool porcelain. Well, he thought she was wonderful. She could see it in his eyes; he thought she was smart and beautiful and compassionate, even now, after the FAYZ’s jagged edges had turned her soft skin tough and sheared off her long, silky hair.

It wasn’t wrong to like that, she told herself, wiping her sweaty hands on the back of her shorts. Of course that wasn’t wrong. Howard didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

She went to Howard and Orc’s trailer. In the bright sunshine, it was easier to feel lonely, she thought as she walked. The kids she saw working by the lake didn’t seem to see her. And who could blame them? It’s not like she had many friends in the community. Not without Sam.

When no one answered, she tentatively opened the door—no one would dare try to rob the place where Orc lived, so there was no need to lock it—and called, “Hello? Charles?”

He was on his mattress, like always. Howard didn’t seem to be at home.  _ Good,  _ she thought. Her heart beat loudly in her ears.

“Astrid,” Orc said, startled, sitting up.

She sat down beside him. They were quiet for a moment. “You haven’t come around in a while,” Orc said finally.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“’Cause I was drunk last time.” There was concern in his words, buried under the gruffness.

“No,” Astrid said, voice firm. “It had nothing to do with that.”

There was a short silence.

“You don’t have your Bible,” he said slowly.

“No,” Astrid replied. “I actually wanted to ask you something.” 

He nodded his head with a vaguely bewildered look on his face. Of course it was okay. She knew it would be. “What is it?” he asked in a low mumble.

_ Lots of things. Why do you look at me the way you do? Why do you touch my hand when you’re drunk, and how far would you go if I let you? _ A chill ran up Astrid’s spine, her mouth going dry. “Do you—” She hesitated, calculating. She had to play her cards right. She had to express herself honestly. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape out her throat, her palms perspiring. “Do you ever feel lonely?”

There was a pause. “Nah,” he muttered. “I got Howard.”

“I don’t mean that kind of lonely.” Astrid was surprised by the gentleness of her tone. She took Orc’s hand The texture of his palm was strange and alien, rough and smooth at the same time. She felt strangely tender toward it in its strangeness. Astrid felt excited, her skin growing cold and hot, and she realized with a wave of bittersweet pleasure how much she missed being touched. 

Orc stiffened at her sudden touch, but didn’t pull away. “I mean the kind where you feel like no one can touch you. Where there’s a barrier of glass between you and everyone else.” She ran her thumb gently over the stone covering his palm. She looked at him, butterflies in her stomach, and thought,  _ Look at me. _

Orc shied away from her gaze. He didn’t speak for a minute. When he did, his voice was rough. “Yeah.”

She moved closer. He finally looked at her, his brown eyes tentatively meeting hers, and Astrid felt a spark of recognition, of warmth. All you want,” she said slowly, “is for someone to reach through and see you. You just want someone to see who you really are.” She took his hand and brought it to her chest. Gently, she pressed his heavy splayed palm against her beating heart.

For now, Astrid was done with thinking. She just wanted to feel.

* * *

“You know what I miss?”

“What?”

Diana put down  _ Madame Bovary  _ and looked Sam in the eye. “Cigarettes. I really, really miss cigarettes.”

“Did you smoke a lot? Before?” Sam asked, ignoring her attempt to shock him. Diana wasn’t disappointed—it sort of delighted her that he wasn’t going to indulge her.

“No,” she admitted. “Only sometimes. I had a couple packs hidden in my room. Whenever I’d leave Coates to go to the convenience store, I’d buy some. Just because.” She didn’t mention that the twenty-something guy behind the counter was more willing to let her obviously fake I.D. slide if she wore a low-cut shirt, and that was flattering. Sam wouldn’t appreciate that anecdote; Caine would. Caine would take pride in her manipulation and beauty. But Sam would probably pity or condescend to her, and that would only remind her of how generous he was, letting her stay at the lake despite her history.

“I smoked once,” Sam offered. 

Diana grinned. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. With Quinn, before school started. I choked on the smoke—we both did—it kinda sucked.” He smiled as he said it, his teeth flashing, and Diana felt butterflies yet again. They seemed to grow bigger each time, their soft wings batting insistently at her stomach lining. 

She wanted to move closer. In the quiet of the houseboat, in the deep twilight, just across the table from his golden-brown hair and boyish smile—so unlike Caine’s dark handsomeness, yet so similar at the same time—it was hard not to think of Astrid. Tight-faced Astrid with the holier-than-thou twist of her mouth, Astrid who was sort of, kind of her friend. 

More and more, Diana wanted to shoo her image from her mind, to enjoy Sam’s presence without Astrid’s specter lingering over her shoulder. Part of her wanted to just go for it. What would be wrong about trying? It’s not like he would reciprocate.  _ Besides,  _ she thought,  _ I’m a bad girl. Sam knows that. This is what bad girls do.  _

This was who she was.

“What?” Sam asked. 

Diana blinked. She’d been staring, wrapped in her own thoughts again. “Nothing,” she said. “Sorry. Just thinking about Caine.” The lie came easily. She’d used it time and time again when she wanted to be left alone, and he always backed off.

To her surprise, Sam frowned. “You still miss him?”

Diana frowned.  _ Do  _ you _ still miss Astrid?  _ she wanted to snap, but held her tongue. “Of course,” she said. “What, do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” Sam said, abashed. “I get it. I mean, not exactly, but...you know.”

“I know,” she said, bitter, “that it must be annoying to listen to me pine after the FAYZ’s resident sociopath.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s a sociopath,” Sam replied. “Astrid and I talked it over, and we figured he’s probably just a narcissist.” His tone was playful, but Diana wasn’t in the mood. She didn’t answer. It was too easy to imagine Astrid taking careful and thoughtful stock of Caine’s crimes, high up on her Christian pedestal. Diagnosing him, analyzing his patterns like he was a lab rat. She didn’t know him—Sam didn’t, either—but still, they judged him. Diana knew that they had every right to, but still, her stomach boiled.

“I guess I shouldn’t talk about your boyfriend that way,” said Sam, looking at her carefully. Evidently, her silence unnerved her.

“He’s your brother.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You know him better than I do.”

“Yeah.” Diana’s voice was heavy as she spoke. “He wouldn’t be a good influence. A good father.”

“He could change.”

Diana scoffed, looking him in the eye. “You don’t think that.”

Sam hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

“I wouldn’t be a good mom, the way I was.” Diana shrugged, hoping it gave off a sense of ease she didn’t feel. “I’m trying to be better.”

She could feel Sam looking at her, thinking about her. “You are,” he said slowly. “We all are. Trying to be better, I mean.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“How do you think I’m doing?” Diana asked, avoiding his gaze.

Sam took a little while to answer. Then he said, low and even, “Good. I think you’re doing good.”

She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” Sam was emphatic. “I mean it. You’re better than you think you are.”

Diana looked into his deep blue eyes. They were sincere, so much so that it was scary. She didn’t know how to feel. Her tongue was tied. “You’re trying to be better for Astrid, I guess,” she said, flustered.

“Yeah.” Sam paused, looking embarrassed. “But...you know, I never believed that crap. About you being the...you know, bad girl.”

“Even when I said it to your face?”

“Even then.”

It was hard for her to fight back a smile. She shook her head, saying, “You’re so—”

“Naïve?” 

She looked away, her face burning. “Not in a bad way.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I figured.”

Diana’s heart pounded. She reached out and took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. Sam stiffened as she looked into his eyes and spoke. “You’ve been so good to me, Sam,” she said. “I really don’t deserve it.”

“Diana—”

“You know, Dekka won’t even talk to me. You know why? It’s because back before all this, I pretended to be into girls. She liked me, and I thought it’d be fun to play with her a bit. I barely remembered that before I came to the lake, but it’s all she sees when she looks at me. Or it could be the fact that I let her and the other kids get their hands stuck in cement on Caine’s orders and didn’t do a thing. What did I care?  _ My _ power was useful.” Her face twisted. “Sam, you don’t get it. You think I’m this...this delicate, misunderstood girl who was tricked by an evil guy into carrying his kid, but I’m not. I’ve done terrible things.” She thought of Panda and swallowed. “ _ Terrible  _ things.”

He stared at her. “Diana,” he said, “I get it.”

“You don’t.”

“I do. Believe me, I do. You know how many times I’ve thought the same thing about myself?” He sounded almost angry. “I think about all the horrible shit I’ve had to do every night before I go to sleep. With Astrid gone, it’s even worse. I can’t stop thinking about it. It never ends.”

“Sam, I didn’t mean—”

“But I can’t let those thoughts get to me. I can’t accept that I’ve done so much screwed-up shit that I won’t be able to look my mom in the eye anymore, I just can’t.” His voice broke. “I know how it feels. I know how it feels and how much it drags you down, but Diana, you can’t keep thinking about what you’ve done. All you can do is focus on what you’ll do now. And now, you’re away from Caine. You’re safe and healthy and protected. You’ve got a baby to think about.” He gripped her hand tightly, his eyes blazing. “You think you’re a bad person. I don’t buy that. I think you could be good if you wanted to. That’s why you came here. You came here to be better, so  _ be better _ .”

His hand trembled in hers. Diana didn’t know what to say. Sam caught his breath, looking at her, frustrated. “I’m trying,” she said. “I’m trying. It’s just...you’ve been so... _ nice _ to me.”

Sam looked at her, confused. Diana couldn’t stand it. She felt electrified, helpless, wrung through with feeling. Everything he’d said was true, but she couldn’t explain how exceptional his behavior toward her was. He didn’t understand.

“You know what?” she said. “You’re right. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself.”

Sam continued to look at her, his gaze turning wary. She released his hand, surprised that he hadn’t pulled away. He looked down at his outstretched fingers, as if he hadn’t realized he hadn’t. He then stuck his hand in his pocket. “Alright,” he said awkwardly. “Fine.”

“I’m gonna go to my room,” Diana said after a moment. Her hand burned; she felt the phantom sensation of his palm and fingers wrapped around hers. It made her feel restless and flustered.  _ That’s how most boys feel around me,  _ she realized dully.

In her room, she sat in the armchair. It felt strange to see her bed from this perspective. Diana noted the rumpled bedclothes and the fact that the pillowcase was half off the pillow. Above the headboard, she suddenly realized, was a tiny wooden cross.

She got up from the chair and crawled into bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Howard poked around the dock, staring at the lake water. The sun was going down, but he didn’t much feel like going home. He knew Astrid would be there.

Business was good, he mused. That was alright. That was fine. He’d have to haul himself all the way to Coates Academy soon if he wanted to have enough cabka to last the rest of the month—some stoner kids had decided they wanted to be regular drinkers after he’d told them he’d run out of weed—but that was okay, too. Mostly. He didn’t want Orc to be alone too often, not when Astrid made the habit of showing up constantly. It was annoying being in the trailer with them, but at least then he didn’t have to deal with the ambiguity of not knowing what was happening on that stupid air mattress.

Howard stripped off his shirt and pants and hid them underneath the dock before wading into the silty shallows of the lake. The freezing water, its temperature amplified by the deepening twilight, made him shiver. Still, he trudged on until he got deep enough to dive, the water enveloping his head. He began to dog paddle, lifting his arms over his head and slicing through the murky water, accompanied only by the sound of his own harsh panting. 

Before the FAYZ, Howard swam at the public pool occasionally. When he started hanging out with Orc, that mostly stopped, for no real reason he could think of. Now, swimming was the only thing he could really think to pass the time after doing his rounds. He wasn’t going to partake in his own stash, obviously, and he didn’t want to hang out with any of the druggies that inevitably tried to cling to him in hopes of getting special privileges. Orc was the only person he really wanted to be around—but, of course, he was busy learning his precious Bible.

Howard came up for air, chest heaving. He’d circled around and was now paddling toward Sam’s houseboat, gentle waves lapping at his chin as he swam. There were rumors around the FAYZ that Astrid had moved out. He wondered if it was true as he looked up, dripping, at the boat’s darkened windows. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Why wonder? he thought bitterly. He could just mosey on home and ask her himself. Howard shook his head, dove into the lake, and swam toward shore. He walked home, lake water seeping through his clothes in patches, as the sky grew dark. He pulled open the trailer door just as the moon was rising high in the sky.

Howard brought a lighter out of his pants’ pocket and flicked it open, squinting at his darkened surroundings. He’d made his way to the kitchen table before he stopped, his heart giving a jolt of fear. He heard something—someone—moving. “Orc?” he called. “That you?” He gripped his lighter tight. It didn’t sound like him.

He moved deeper into the trailer until he reached Orc’s mattress. It was illuminated by a pale shaft of moonlight. Howard, stony, lowered his lighter.  _ Of course _ .

He saw how Astrid’s tall, slim figure splayed awkwardly around Orc’s bigger, bulkier frame. Her arm was wrapped around his, her head nestled into his thick stone neck. She looked placid, peaceful, pale skin glowing in the moonlight. 

Howard’s skin crawled; his heart clenched. He dropped to his knees and shook her shoulder until Astrid’s eyes opened. “Hey,” he hissed. “ _ Hey _ .” 

Her eyes widened and she bolted up, slipping her arm out of Orc’s. “Howard.”

“Yeah,” he snapped. “It’s me.”

“It’s not—this isn’t—”

Orc stirred, and both of them stiffened. “Leave,” Howard hissed, and she glared at him, setting her jaw. “Leave,” he repeated, and seethed in silence as she leaned over Orc’s sleeping body. She touched the skin on his cheek with her forefinger in a sort of goodbye—but her icy eyes stayed on Howard. Then, she stood up, back rigid, and left. He waited until her hushed footfalls fell away before turning back to the mattress and seeing that Orc’s eyes were open and looking at him.

“Hey,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Hey.” Howard tried not to sound as bitter as he felt. “Sorry your girlfriend left.” 

“Shut up.” His eyes closed again. He didn’t sound angry.

Howard tried again. “What’d you do, make out or something? That doesn’t sound very Christian—since she has a boyfriend and all.”

“Shut the hell up, Howard.” There was more of an edge in Orc’s voice, his good eye peering at him with a bleary irritation. 

That was good. Howard opened his mouth to say something else, but then Orc turned on his side with a sudden shifting of gravel, ending the conversation. Howard bit his tongue and silently crawled into his nearby bunk. The night was cool and his skin was still damp from the lake.

_ If I’d been here, Astrid wouldn’t have tried anything,  _ he thought.  _ Neither of them would.  _ His stomach churned as he stared at the ceiling. It had never made sense, Orc’s feelings for Astrid, but at least before she’d been wholly unattainable. Now what? It just didn’t make any sense. And what about Sam? Howard couldn’t tell him what he’d seen, of course...whatever it was. He couldn’t do that to Orc. Not only was it a pretty shitty thing to do, it would also probably entitle him to a beating or something.

Howard rolled over, restless. The curiosity he felt made it difficult to sleep. What had they done together? Had they kissed? Made out? It was hard to think about a girl as uptight as Astrid making out with anyone, but surely she’d done it with Sam. Surely they hadn’t slept together. Howard winced at the ceiling. No, he couldn’t even think about that; the very notion made him queasy. 

This whole thing was crazy, Howard reminded himself. Astrid was with Sam. They belonged together. Sam had to be told. It was his duty as a good citizen or whatever. Sam might not be the leader of the FAYZ anymore, but he still had power and influence.

Besides, he thought, running a hand through his hair as he approached the entrance to Sam’s houseboat the next morning, it would be good for Orc in the long run. He didn’t deserve to be manipulated like that. Astrid didn’t care about him—not like he did.

Sam opened the door. His eyes narrowed when he saw who it was. “What are you doing here, Howard?”

“Nothing much.” Howard stuck his hands in his pockets, casual. “I just thought you might be interested in what Astrid’s been doing lately.” He paused, as if something had just occurred to him. “So, are you guys broken up, or—”

“That’s none of your business.” Sam’s voice was curt, his eyes flinty. “And you don’t have to tell me. I know she’s been helping Orc.” 

“There’s more. She’s been….” Howard trailed off, feeling hot and foolish. He wasn’t used to being unprepared like this. “I saw something happen. Between Astrid and him.”

Sam blinked. “Between Astrid and Orc?”

“Yeah. They were lying together on his bed.”

He gave a sharp barking laugh. Howard’s face began to heat up. “I know it sounds crazy, but hold on—”

“Howard, why the hell would Astrid be—”

“I don’t know!”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Howard lied. “I thought you would.” He felt stupid, off his game. This had been a mistake, he knew.

“Okay,” Sam said. He frowned, thinking, then added, “Well, thanks, I guess.”

Howard left a few minutes after that, fuming with embarrassment. Of course Sam wouldn’t care. Astrid technically hadn’t  _ done  _ anything. When he arrived home, he saw that Orc was sleeping. That was the only time he looked really peaceful, when he was asleep. 

It was hard to be angry when Howard saw his face all relaxed like that. It reminded him a little of when Orc used to sleep over. He did that sometimes when his parents were fighting really bad. They’d both sleep on the floor of Howard’s bedroom, watching something stupid on the crappy little TV he’d begged his parents for when he was ten. They wouldn’t even use sleeping bags, just a bunch of blankets and pillows. They wouldn’t talk or anything—they’d just watch TV until they dozed off. Sometimes they’d kinda share a blanket, on account of it being warmer close together, and it’s not like either of them really cared about, you know, the implications, because it wasn’t like anyone was looking, anyway. At least, that’s what Howard thought. 

He wasn’t sure what Orc thought about them sharing a blanket, because he’d just kind of stare at the TV with his eyes glazed and his mouth half-open. Howard always wondered if he’d notice if he moved his leg or arm just a bit closer. Out of curiosity’s sake. 

When Orc was drunk, he didn’t care. He’d get angry and then he’d get weepy and then sometimes Howard would comfort him and he’d cling to him. It’d be funny, almost, with Orc being so big and tough and made of rock and Howard being so skinny and small in comparison, but it wasn’t. It was scary and depressing, but also kind of a relief—a horrible, perverse relief—because Howard could wipe away his tears and touch the skin on his cheek without worrying about Orc finding out anything.

But he’d probably be ecstatic if  _ Astrid _ comforted him while he was having a drunken crying jag, Howard thought, stewing in bitterness. He’d let her touch him and do all sorts of affectionate crap, because Astrid was a girl. Even though she was arrogant and supercilious and probably at the end of the day thought Orc was dumb as the rocks he was covered in.

It never failed to make Howard seethe, these thoughts, but he couldn’t stop having them. They were liable to drive him nuts, but they kept banging around in his brain, fervent and buzzing.

He should get going, he told himself. He should grab his stash and start making his rounds. Just to have something to do. 

Instead, Howard crawled back into his bunk.

* * *

They’d been sitting in her bedroom, Sam’s leg touching her blanket-covered knee, when Diana leaned over and kissed him. It was a light kiss, a platonic kiss, she reasoned later. The type of dry, papery kiss you’d give a grandmother. She kissed him below the eye, on his cheekbone, and when she pulled away and saw the look of shock on his face, she swallowed, looked away, and said, “Sorry.”

“Wh—”

“It was an accident.” Her face burned.

“No—I mean—Diana, you know I’m with Astrid.” Sam’s face was red. He looked thoroughly ashamed despite not doing anything wrong. Diana found that frustrating. He held his whole body stiffly, like he didn’t trust himself to move normally, to relax in the stuffy heat of the gently rocking bedroom.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you’re a friend. I don’t have any feelings for you like that.”

“Oh.” Diana knew this. She knew it like she knew the sky was blue, but it still felt like someone had slowly and firmly pushed their hand down on her heart, flattening the tender organ into something rubbery and flat. “I mean, I know.”

They hadn’t been doing anything particularly charged before that. They’d just been sitting, relaxing. Diana hadn’t even been trying to read Astrid’s stupid book. She’d been looking around her room, and her eyes alighted on Sam’s face as he read a magazine, and she’d been entranced by how determined he looked. It was funny—he was so focused on reading something so drab and inconsequential, and his eyes looked so blue, so deep. Diana felt pulled in despite herself. She needed to do something, needed to express to him how endearing he looked.

Sam still looked abashed. He bit his lip. His eyes darted briefly to her mouth, something Diana didn’t fail to catch. “You’re still very, uh, beautiful—”

“I know you’re with Astrid.” She suddenly wished they’d get off the subject “I didn’t mean—I just...you’re sweet.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Sam turned redder.

Diana swallowed. “I’m just really hormonal right now, actually.”

“Okay.”

They sat in silence for a few horrible, slow moments. Diana wanted to disappear. She stared at the coverlet, feeling Sam’s eyes on her.

“Diana,” he said softly.

“Yeah?” She looked at him. He stared back at her, looking serious. He was so close she could see the golden-blond color of his eyelashes and the flecks of green in his irises.

“It’s not that I don’t...y’know...I mean, you’re... _ you _ .” Sam’s words were a murmur against Diana’s mouth.

“Oh.” Diana didn’t know what that meant. She tried not to look at his lips, instead concentrating on his eyes. She could feel her body filling with heat. “Just so you know,” she said, heart pumping fast, “it’s not because of what Astrid was supposedly doing with Orc.”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t think—I just meant that, maybe if I wasn’t, if we weren’t—” Sam combed his fingers through his golden-brown hair, bashful. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”

Diana’s stomach turned with unease and excitement. She flushed deeply, unsure of what to say.  _ Get it together,  _ she thought sternly.  _ Jesus, you’re not in fifth grade anymore. _

“I think Howard’s lying, anyway,” Sam said suddenly.  _ He can’t stand the silence, either,  _ she thought. He'd backed away, subtly, but they were still close.

“He’s, like, a drug dealer, right?” She knew Howard was, but she’d do anything to get off the topic of that stupid kiss.

Sam grimaced. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Not officially, but yeah. He’s no Caine or Drake, but he’s unreliable. No one’s really close to him. Except Orc, I guess, but he’s...Orc.”

“Mm. He doesn’t seem like the type girls would fall for.”

“No way.” Sam laughed a little. “He scared even the ninth graders before all this, and that’s when he looked human. I can’t imagine anyone...you know. Especially not Astrid.”

“Yeah,” Diana echoed, looking at him carefully. Sam stated everything so matter-of-factly, as if trying to convince himself. He looked fine, but maybe he wondered if Howard was right. She personally didn’t believe him for a second. Astrid was too uptight to cheat with anyone, even in a remote, vague sense, and especially not with dumb thugs. She’d seen Orc’s type before—there were a few of his ilk at Coates. Their breath smelled like cigarettes or weed and their fingernails were always grimy. Creeps, the lot of them. Diana started to wonder. If what Howard said  _ was  _ true (though, she reminded herself, it most likely wasn’t), it couldn’t have been consensual.

Diana suppressed a shiver. No, she couldn’t go there. Howard was lying, like Sam said.

“Diana.” Sam’s voice was soft. She was brought back to the bedroom, the dryness of her mouth, the flecks of vivid green in her housemate’s eyes. He looked at her with a kind of desperation and hunger that stirred her, so much so that she couldn’t think any more about Astrid. The space between them grew smaller as Sam moved closer.  His hand crept to touch her jawline, tilting it slightly. Diana closed her eyes as his mouth pressed to hers, hungry and passionate and full of frustration. His teeth knocked against hers, tongue slipping into her mouth. For a moment, Diana let the pleasure swallow her up, glorying in the physicality of his soft mouth and tongue, before forcing herself to relent, pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, short of breath.

“No—” She bit her tongue.  _ Let him apologize,  _ she thought suddenly. How many times had she apologized for the kisses boys and men had initiated?  _ Screw it.  _

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Sam said, running a hand through his hair again. He looked suddenly wan, not red-cheeked and passionate like he’d been just a second before.

“No,” she admitted, face heating with shame. “You shouldn’t have.”

They looked at each other, at a loss for what to say.

Sam left quickly after. Diana didn’t blame him. She sat on her bed, befuddled and embarrassed. Her lips burned from the kiss, which made her think of Astrid. Maybe it hadn’t been a lie, she thought suddenly. Maybe she  _ had  _ kissed Orc, against all odds. It wasn’t impossible, right?

If she had...he could confirm to Sam that Howard was making it all up. Maybe that’d make up for that stupid kiss.

Astrid looked surprised to see her. Once she sat down at the table, huffing a little due to the strain of walking for so long, Diana searched her face for signs of internal struggle. There were bags under Astrid’s eyes, and she looked maybe a little paler than usual, but other than that, she looked normal. “What?” she asked, bewildered. “Why are you staring at me?”

Diana hesitated. “Howard came by the houseboat,” she admitted. “He said some things, and—”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “Sam didn’t send you to check on me, did he?”

“No! I came on my own. I wanted to see if it was...true.” Diana stared hard at the girl across the table, suddenly feeling heavy. Something was there, she realized. Something  _ had _ happened. She could see it in Astrid’s face. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s not what you think,” Astrid blurted hastily. “Whatever Howard told you and Sam, it isn’t true.”

“Then what did happen?” Diana leaned forward, and watched conflicted emotions play out subtly on Astrid’s face. It was so odd to even contemplate: Astrid—perfect, prudish Astrid—had crossed a line with Orc. The knot that had grown in Diana’s stomach ever since the kiss loosened.  _ So she  _ is  _ fallible _ , Diana thought.  _ Weird as hell, but fallible.  _ It made her weirdly giddy to see Astrid so uncomfortable, so caught. It felt similar to how she felt when she found out that Astrid started having sex with Sam. It was like she was stepping off her snow-white pedestal she perpetually clung to.

“I can’t tell you.” Astrid’s face was beet-red, her lips thinning.

“I swear I won’t tell anyone. Swear to God.” Diana switched to a different tack. “You don’t need to feel ashamed, if that’s the problem,” she said gently, catching Astrid’s eye. “I won’t judge you. If anyone would understand what it’s like to have guy troubles, it’s me.”

There was a heavy pause. Astrid looked down at the table. “We kissed,” she said softly.

“Okay.” Diana kept her tone neutral, but inwardly, she was an uneasy mixture of ecstatic and horrified. Astrid had kissed someone else. That meant Diana was at least somewhat off the hook for the kiss, but it also meant that Sam was wrong in believing in his girlfriend’s fidelity. Despite her mind whirling, Diana managed to keep her tone soothing and even. “What was it like?”

Astrid paused and looked thoughtful, her brows knitting together. “It was...interesting.”

_How romantic._ It sounded more like she was talking about a science experiment than a kiss. “What do you mean?” Diana asked.

Astrid looked down at her hands as she spoke. “His lips, they’re mostly encased in stone, but it’s not stone exactly, it’s something a little more pliable. It feels like keratin, like lizard skin or fingernails. But a part of his mouth is still flesh, so it’s not all hard. He wanted to kiss me only out of the corner that’s still human. He was worried he’d scare me off, I think, if he kissed me with the gravel part.” 

Astrid put her hands on the table, looking up at Diana. “He’s gentle,” she added quietly. She frowned as she said it, as if she was still sorting out how she felt. “Part of me was worried he wouldn’t be. Part of me thought...I don’t know. Part of me was nervous. But he was more scared than I was.”

Diana’s face warmed with embarrassment. This sort of intimacy was weird. She didn’t think she’d talked with anyone about guys this way.

“Was it...good?” she asked carefully. This was important; if it was, then she could let herself fully off the hook for the kiss she’d given Sam.

“I don’t—”

“Yes or no. Was it good? Did you like it? Would you do it again?” These weren’t supposed to be difficult to answer. Diana ignored her own complicated feelings regarding those very same questions; Caine was a whole different thing. Besides, at the very least he was cute. She couldn’t say the same about Orc, who looked like just as much of a monster on the outside as Caine was on the inside.

Astrid paused and pursed her lips. After a moment, she said, “No.”

_ Shit.  _ Diana wasn’t sure what to say next. She was at a loss; there was no chance of Astrid moving onto someone else. “Then...will you be coming back to the boat?” she asked, biting back any indication that she wouldn’t be welcome to.  _ Be a better person, be a better person. _

“You’re asking if I miss Sam.” Astrid looked at Diana in that keen, discerning way that meant she was putting up the walls of her ice palace, her blue eyes narrow.

“I guess?” Diana frowned. She didn’t like words being put in her mouth. When her host didn’t reply, she added, “Sam misses you.”

Astrid’s face fell. She hunched over a little, as if curling in on herself. “He must think I’m a hypocrite,” she said glumly.

Diana couldn’t muster much sympathy.  _ Well, yeah.  _ “I mean,  _ he’s  _ cheated before. He’d be throwing stones in glass houses,” she said, shrugging off the remaining guilt clinging to her.

Astrid flinched at the word  _ cheat _ . “I always thought that would be a line I wouldn’t cross,” she admitted.

Diana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I guess you’re just not as good as you thought,” she said as innocently as possible—not sweet enough that Astrid didn’t glare at her, though.

“But I didn’t mean to,” Astrid continued in that same desperate way. It was beginning to get on Diana’s nerves, that tone. “It didn’t  _ feel  _ like cheating.”

“Oh, my God.” Diana snorted. She couldn’t stop herself; it was just too good. She wanted to have compassion, really, she did, but the words popped out of her mouth before she could think about them. “No offense—and I mean that—but literally every cheater would say the exact same thing.”

Astrid’s lip curled. She pushed her chair back and stood up. “You just don’t get it,” she snapped. “Never mind.”

“No, I get it more than anyone.” Diana stood up, too. They glared at each other. “You feel guilty ‘cause you cheated. Big deal. Now you just gotta own up to it. Don’t be a coward, don’t be your ice queen self about it. Sam doesn’t deserve that.” Diana’s skin crawled.  _ You don't deserve that _ , she thought.

“I  _ know _ that!” Astrid’s eyes flashed. “I know he deserves the truth.”

“Then tell him!”  _ Tell her! _

“I can’t!” Her voice rose, her face flushing. “I don’t understand why I wanted—why I did what I did. I can’t tell him until I work it out. Please don’t tell him, Diana.  _ Please _ .” 

Diana stiffened when Astrid reached across the table to take her hands. She gripped them tight. Her palms were damp, but Diana didn’t pull away; something about the guilty look in her eyes made Diana soften.

“Okay,” she heard herself mutter. “Okay. Fine.”


	7. Chapter 7

Diana stayed the night, which Astrid was grateful for. Having a warm body next to her was preferable to sleeping alone. Sleeping by herself brought on longing thoughts of Sam; at least with Diana with her, she felt too self-conscious to think anything dirty.

She hadn’t told Diana everything. How could she? Casting the words into the unforgiving air of the trailer made them crass, nothing at all like the thoughts in her head. She hadn’t told her that she had let Orc kiss her again, that she had counted off each one in her head as it happened. One, two, three. Two chaste ones, one...not. But to admit that to Diana would be too much. She couldn’t tell her about the last kiss, the one that was full and openmouthed, and how it’d made her feel. Just the thought made her cheeks heat with shame and her stomach squirm with discomfort.

It was true that she wasn’t planning to cheat again. She’d told Orc as much during their conversation afterward, knowing he wouldn’t complain; he seemed too dazed by the kisses to do anything but nod. Part of her felt a little sad to dash whatever expectations he might have built up due to this new intimacy—but only a small part. She’d made it perfectly clear that, while she cared for him, she was still solely devoted to Sam. Orc respected that.

Still, Astrid thought, turning on the mattress, the excitement she felt worried her. It wasn’t right that she’d feel that way about a boy other than Sam—especially, she had to admit, a boy like Orc. His monstrous appearance didn’t repulse her like it did others, but it didn’t attract her, either. 

The kiss, Astrid surmised, was a fluke. She was desperate for affection after weeks away from her boyfriend, lonely and wanting validation. The excitement she felt could be pushed down and hopefully forgotten because, she rationalized, it was excitement borne of an infatuation with a false perception of herself.

Having fully squared that away, she thought of Howard and his spiel about her manipulativeness.  _ We’re not the same,  _ she thought fiercely. That was one thing she wouldn’t budge on. She was as far from Howard as she could be. But he did have a point, she had to admit—she couldn’t indulge Orc’s infatuation. She had to be true to Sam. She had to be honest with him.

Astrid swallowed. Already, she felt a hot flush of humiliation creeping up her whole body.  _ You have to do this,  _ she thought.

Diana stirred, rustling the blanket they shared. Astrid wondered if she was asleep. It’d only been an hour. “Diana,” she whispered at her still back.

Diana grunted.

“I’m going to tell Sam tomorrow.”

Another grunt.

“You’re right,” Astrid continued, her voice piercing through the silence of the

night. “I need to tell him what I did.”

Diana took a moment to answer. Astrid could hear her breathing. “Good,” she said at last, her voice low and even..

“It’d be dishonest if I didn’t—”

“Astrid, you don’t have to confess to me. I’m not a priest.”

“I’m not confessing to you.” Astrid felt stung. Every time she tried to be honest, Diana tried to ward her off.

They lapsed into silence. Astrid pursed her lips, looking at the ceiling. Eventually, Diana mumbled something. “What?” Astrid asked coldly. 

Diana turned onto her other side, fixing her eyes on her. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to be completely honest.” Diana’s eyes glittered with

unnerving intensity in the dark. 

Astrid’s stomach fluttered. “Okay,” she repeated, softer this time. Her skin

prickled with unease. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear what her bedmate had to say.

Diana sat up and took a breath. Astrid sat up as well. “It’s about me,” she admitted finally, her voice hesitant. “And...and Sam.” Before Astrid could say anything, she rushed out, “I needed to tell you now or I wouldn’t tell you at all. I want to be honest, too. Since—” She gave a meek little shrug, “we’re friends, I guess.” Her last words sounded unsure. 

Astrid did nothing to assuage her uncertainty. Something dark and was beginning to percolate in her mind. She waited for her to finish, her mouth dry...but when Diana didn’t speak quickly enough, she said it, her voice cold. “You kissed him.”

“He kissed me,” she said. Her face was an inscrutable shadow in the darkness.

_ Liar.  _ “I don’t believe you,” Astrid said. Her voice shook despite herself. Anger clouded her thoughts. She wrenched off the blanket, leaving Diana cold.

“It’s true,” Diana insisted. “Astrid, I swear.” The whites of her eyes could only just be seen; they glowed in the dark.

“Why should I believe you?” Astrid’s vision blurred with tears. She couldn’t think straight, she was so furious. She clutched the blanket until her knuckles turned white. All she could think of was Sam’s blustering apology after the Taylor incident, the pleading look in his eyes. He’d had such a hangdog expression on his face, one that screamed regret and bitter nights lying awake. And yet he’d done it again.  _ I gave him everything,  _ she thought, _ and he still wanted more.  _ “You don’t have a reputation for being monogamous.” She spit “monogamous” with as much venom as she could.

“I wouldn’t tell you if it wasn’t true. I _ promise _ .”

“He wouldn’t do that!”

Diana just looked at her; Astrid could feel her eyes, could feel the pity radiating off her. “Astrid,” she said softly.

“No. Shut up. Stop talking.” Hot tears slid down her cheeks. She jerked away when she heard Diana slide closer on the mattress.

“I pulled away,” Diana said. “Astrid, you’re so smart. I mean it.” Her voice was soft and pleading. “Please, just think. I’m with Caine. I love him. I’m having his  _ baby _ .”

Astrid pressed her palms to her closed eyes. Her anger was rapidly wilting into despair. “I can’t believe it. He did it again.” _And with_ you _,_ she thought with a fresh helping of rage. _Diana Ladris, Coates’ resident slut._ _Wasn’t stupid, ditzy Taylor enough?_

Diana touched the hem of her nightgown, apologetic. Astrid moved away, looking at her with red-rimmed eyes. “I’d tell you to leave if it weren’t night and you weren’t pregnant,” she said.

“I know.” Diana had the decency to sound only glum instead of betrayed.

They lay back down in silence, turned away from each other. Astrid couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts jostled for room in her tired brain. She thought of Sam and Diana, who kept morphing in her mind’s eye into Taylor. She thought of her and Orc. Her stomach twisted and flopped with guilt and disgust. Sam shouldn’t have cheated. She shouldn’t have, either, of course, but she still couldn’t help but count the differences between these two instances. Orc wasn’t attractive like Diana was, and she’d only done it to test if she was attracted to him or not. She’d found out that she wasn’t, one troubling kiss aside. Howard was wrong in suspecting her of being manipulative; you couldn’t lead someone on that you didn’t at least have some interest in. Diana might laugh at that, but Astrid thought so.

But Sam had kissed _Diana_. Beautiful, seductive, pregnant Diana! How could she not recoil at that? Kissing Orc could be construed as an act of generosity, of charity—hell, of clinical interest—but kissing Diana was the fantasy of any pubescent boy in the FAYZ. It boiled Astrid’s blood to think of Sam being tempted by a girl like her. Wasn’t he better than that? Didn’t he love _her_ for her depth of character? If all he wanted was a pretty face and a warm body—and he evidently did—why didn’t he choose some other girl for a girlfriend?

And Diana…. Astrid’s heart sunk, a bitter taste filling her mouth. Why hadn’t she expected a girl as promiscuous as her to latch onto the nearest handsome boy? Never mind that they were kind of, sort of friends. She’d trusted her in telling her about at least one of her kisses with Orc, and all along  _ she _ was kissing her boyfriend. Astrid’s ears went hot with shame. 

She’d been such a fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the Diana/Sam/Astrid love triangle fic I talked about on my Tumblr! This will update every Monday. Comments and kudos are very welcome!


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